Just A Day
by Roga
Summary: What was Chase doing during One Day, One Room? An episode filler for episode 3x12, where Chase gets more than six lines.


It was a completely ordinary day, other than the fact that a patient had virtually taken House hostage and was threatening to release him only when he fixed her psych. Chase figured this meant that House would be missing for at least a week, and it just might be a perfect opportunity to redecorate the office. During House's absence as he recuperated from being shot it had been a small plant here, a frilly curtain there, a box of pink markers for the whiteboard – small touches had accumulated to a wonderful change in Diagnostics décor, and even more wonderful was House's expression when he'd wandered into his office that first morning and nearly had a stroke, blaming it all on Cameron. Of course, the offending pieces had all been taken down, but with House out of the way now, maybe it was time for another change.

Chase pondered this as he made his way down a hospital corridor, slurping an iced-tea and trying not to look as if he were wandering aimlessly. As luck had it, a code was called just as he was passing by an ICU room, and giving his unfinished iced-tea a last regretful look he tossed it aside, pulled on a pair of latex gloves with a smack and dived in.

Ten minutes later the patient was stabilized, and Chase contemplated going back down to the cafeteria to get himself another drink, perhaps a fresh, minty lemonade. But as he passed by the nurse's station Claire, a pretty blonde nurse who grew up in Australia and god knew why he hadn't dated her yet, called him over excitedly. "My husband just came back from a business trip to Sydney," she said, and oh, right, that was why. "You'll never guess what he brought me."

Glancing sideways furtively as if she were participating in a drug deal, she reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of – good lord. Chase's eyes widened.

Reading his expression, Claire giggled. "I know! I've been saving some for you." She took three Tim Tams from the half open pack and wrapped them in a napkin, pressing it into Chase's hand, and his mouth instinctively began to water in a Pavlovian reaction to the warm, heavenly scent of the chocolate.

"Thank you," he breathed gratefully. Coffee. He needed coffee now. "I _owe_ you. If there's anything you need, let me know."

"Well, now that you've mentioned it…" Chase raised his eyebrows, but Claire was too innocent for it to have been a ploy. She lowered her voice. "We have this patient whose diarrhea is just about the _messiest_ thing you've ever seen."

Chase held the Tim Tams behind his back so they wouldn't be tainted by such talk.

"Anyway, the doctors are saying it's just stress and anxiety, but they're not the ones who have to clean everything up, you know? I was wondering if maybe if maybe an adjustment to his meds could help…?"

"I'll take a look," Chase promised, and a short while later he exited the room and told Claire to recommend switching the patient to different medication. Coffee time, he thought, heading towards the office. He caught the elevator just before the doors closed, which meant he didn't have to walk as far, but also meant that he was crammed in between two gurneys, in a space where two gurneys clearly shouldn't have fitted. It didn't come as a huge surprise when, with a jolt in between floors, the elevator came to a sudden stop.

"Crap," he said. The two nurses looked apprehensive. The two patients looked unconscious. "Don't worry," Chase assured them all, "I'm sure we'll be out of here in no time." As Nurse #1 picked up the emergency phone and started to call for help, Chase took out his cell phone and dialed Cuddy's number.

"Chase?" she picked up, sounding puzzled.

"Yeah," he said calmly, eyes skimming over one of the two charts clipped to the gurneys. "Sorry to bother you, I'm stuck in an elevator with two patients, and last time this happened it took maintenance half an hour to show up."

He heard her groan. "Thanks for letting me know. Will you guys be okay?"

He finished reading the second chart. "As long as nobody crashes."

"I'll send someone over."

"Great," he sighed, hanging up. The nurses were staring at him with shock. He was saved having to explain why he had the Dean of Medicine's private phone number by Patient #2, who had very noticeably stopped breathing. "Double great," Chase muttered, checking the guy's pulse and asking the nurses for an inventory of the equipment in the elevator.

By the time the maintenance crew arrived Chase had intubated Patient #2 and been thrown up on twice by Patient #1. His shoulders were sore from helping push the elevator doors open, but at least everyone was still alive and hello, oxygen, so nice to see you again.

The Tim Tams had made it intact, though, and coffee was now not so much craved as essential. Chase hopped to the showers to change his pants and shoes into scrubs and sandals, and his shirt was, thankfully, clean. Stepping out, he was accosted by the Houstage himself.

"Where are you going?" House asked, looking like he was a step away from grabbing Chase by the ear.

"The… office?"

"Not even pretending to have tests to run like Cameron and Foreman, you lazy bum." House started walking and let out a short whistle, which Chase took as a sign to follow. "Am I the _only_ one working around here?"

Chase opened his mouth to reply, but House cut him off. "Don't answer that." He paused for the briefest of moments. "Look, the girl asked me if anything terrible's ever happened to me. I need to know what to tell her."

Chase blinked. "Are you asking me for advice?"

House rolled his eyes. "Don't wet yourself from the excitement. You're not my first, second, or hey, even third choice."

They reached the elevator, which House obviously wanted to take and Chase wasn't going to set foot in for a week. "I'm not going in there," he stated.

House eyed his mismatched outfit, must have reached some sort of conclusion and snorted. "Fine. You paranoid, ridiculous-looking freak." He sat down on a waiting bench. "Now what do I tell her?"

Chase sat a safe two chairs away, wondering how House had managed to even get away from the girl. "Did you just leave her in her room?" He frowned. "Aren't you worried she's going to kill herself again?"

House looked down, running his hand along his cane. "I sedated her," he – but no, House didn't _mumble_. He tapped the cane on the floor abruptly, moving his gaze to Chase. "Can't you focus that 'la la look! Shiny!' brain of yours for five seconds and answer the damn question? _What do I tell her?_"

"Tell her…" Chase trailed off. If a girl's been raped, is there anything you can tell her about yourself that will help her heal? If a boy gets home from soccer practice to discover the floor carpeted with stale vomit and a body on the floor, lying in the sunlight streaming from the window, is there anything you can tell him that will actually make him smile and say, "you know, you're _right_, I hadn't thought of it quite that way, so let's get this body six feet under and go win ourselves the district championship!"

House was still looking at him, and really, the best thing was to keep yourself out of the situation in the first place. "…keep her asleep," he finally surrendered.

Sarcasm crept across House's face like a familiar friend. "Thanks," he emphasized, "you've all been a _huge_ help."

Chase tried to think of something wiser to say. "There's no wrong answer," he shrugged, "because there's no right answer."

"You're wrong," House replied, staring perplexedly into the distance. "We just don't know what the right answer is."

He heaved himself up and disappeared down the hall, leaving Chase slightly bewildered by the entire exchange. House was wrong, of course, he mused as he took the stairs down to their floor. If House truly believed there was a 'right' answer to dealing with people, like checking the correct answer box on a multiple choice test, he was even more messed up than Chase had thought he was.

The office was thankfully empty, and Chase made himself a steaming cup of coffee, settling down in an uncomfortable chair that could really use a cushion, if one were to take redecorating seriously. Then his senses were taken over by the sacred ritual of eating a Tim Tam, carefully nibbling the edges and sipping the coffee through the chocolate melting in his hands and licking his now messy fingers and House was once again missing making this, in spite of everything, a perfect, perfect day, and there was no _wonder_ they called it having a Tim Tam orgasm.

Chase looked a the two remaining biscuits and decided to save them for the next time he was being harassed by a House-triggered madman like Tritter, which would no doubt happen again before his fellowship was done.

For now, a nap, and maybe he'd hop by the NICU later to see if they needed any help, and he'd give some more thought to redecoration. For weeks now he'd had been eying Wilson's _Touch of Evil_ poster with envy, and he wondered absently if he could get away with stealing it – Wilson would probably blame House anyway – or if he should buy a movie poster of his own.

Thinking of _The_ _Thorn Birds_, Chase went to sleep.


End file.
